


Sketch

by cinereous



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Anal Sex, M/M, PWP, Post-Canon, Romance, Wet Clothing, body painting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-15
Updated: 2019-04-15
Packaged: 2020-01-14 17:35:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18481045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cinereous/pseuds/cinereous
Summary: It was almost uncanny how Akira was able to become the canvas Yusuke desired. Anxieties and harsher emotions seemed to fade to white nothing, waiting for the blue haired man to paint new feelings and experiences into his skin instead.





	Sketch

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for [Dick or Treat 2019](https://dick-or-treat.dreamwidth.org/)! Please go check it out! Beta read by habenaria_radiata.

    The sound of a paintbrush swirling through water and knocking into the edges of a ceramic mug had become something erotic for Akira. The dull 'ping' of wood and the liquid slosh filled the thick silence of the attic, and he sighed deeply with relaxation while turning his head the other direction on his folded arms.  
  
    Akira knew that Yusuke was mixing a new color. The thicker, wet sounds of paint and bristles were evidence enough. He passed an idle curiosity to what color it would be this time. For some reason, his mind always supplied a deep, sumptuous blue, or red like rose petals falling onto water that reflected the sky.  
  
    His mind was so full of colors that he shivered when the icy wetness touched his back.  
  
    The shiver must have amused Yusuke, because a soft, gentle chuckle filled that breathing space between them. The other man didn't speak, though. There was a spell to these sessions that couldn't be broken with actual words.  
  
    Instead, Yusuke spoke through brush strokes.   
  
    A breeze, warm and fragrant with early summer blossoms and sugar from the cotton candy stall nearby, flowed in and caressed along his back where the masterpiece was being formed. The gust of air, gentle as it was, still made the paint on his skin grow chillier and dry with more ease.  
  
    Long, elegant fingers brushed at the fringe low on his neck, pressing the strands up and away from the canvas that was his back. They lingered there, paper thin nails scratching along delicately hidden skin before disappearing once again.  
  
    The now exposed and vulnerable spot became a home for gooseflesh as the brush found it too, anointing him with whatever color Yusuke had seen there that had lain invisible before.  
  
    Akira's sigh joined the sweet jingle of a wind chime outside. This time, he didn't bother to hide his shiver as it trembled its way down his spine.   
  
    A part of him silently applauded where he was now. The Akira from three years ago would never have found himself half-naked and sprawled on his belly for his lover's appreciative eyes. The thought had seemed so invasive and too intimate back then, but now Akira simply felt relaxed and spoiled and worth looking at.  
  
    Stress from his university classes, his three jobs, his workouts with Ann, and even the small everyday, petty arguments with Yusuke had all built up, but now they were washed away. It was almost uncanny how Akira was able to _become_ the canvas Yusuke desired. Anxieties and harsher emotions seemed to fade to white nothing, waiting for the blue haired man to paint new feelings and experiences into his skin instead.  
  
    And Akira was feeling like roses on water today; dreamy, luxurious, weightless, beautiful.  
  
    Always beautiful.   
  
    Yusuke would not let him feel any other way, not when his keen artist's eye always found something to breathlessly praise around every corner.  
  
    He heard the sound of a brush in water again, but this time, the bed dipped to signal that Yusuke's work was complete. Akira ached to know what gorgeous image his lover had made of him, but he knew he had to stay still while he dried.   
  
    The drying was always the hardest part. It was tedious, and his back itched under the drying, cracking paint. Yusuke stayed beside him though, kneeling beside the bed until Akira could see his eyes through his sleepily low lashes.  
  
    Those same long and graceful fingers tangled into his hair, leaving him to sigh with utter satisfaction.  
  
    "What colors did you use?" he murmured, voice so quiet it was almost unheard as he tried hard not to break the delicate bubble of hushed solemnity that always came with these lazy Sunday mornings.  
  
    Yusuke seemed surprised by the question, his long lashes making the widening of his eyes seem all the larger and prettier. The man shifted a bit, twisting his body and then turning back with his palette in hand. Akira could see many seductive shades of purple.  
  
    Blue and red _together_. No roses on his back then. Hm.  
  
    It was always an interesting game to play, trying to figure out what Yusuke had created, but it was equally impossible. He hummed lazily into the pillow beneath his cheek and offered his lover a cat-like, love drunk smile.  
  
    "Did you draw eggplants on me, Yusuke?" he whispered with faux solemnity, muffling a deep and husky chuckle against his arm the moment after. It was a delight to see the way the other man looked so deeply offended. The smudge of paint on his jaw did nothing to keep Akira's amusement at bay either.  
  
    "So rude to insinuate I would paint anything that was not beautiful on you. Your skin is my most ephemeral canvas, Akira. I would not waste it."  
  
    His words were diamond arrows, beautiful and precise. Akira's eyes fluttered closed as if on impact, but only for a second. He could not keep his gaze from Yusuke. The cutely irritated expression was gone. Instead, he was soft and untroubled, dragging the back of his fingers along Akira's cheek in a painfully romantic gesture.  
  
    "Let me show you."  
  
    Akira almost protested, but this was also part of the ritual. Yusuke eased away, and Akira held his breath while the man fetched the camera to take a photograph of his back. He'd gotten good at holding his breath thanks to Yusuke always taking forever. He had to to stay still through different angles and perspectives, but fortunately by now they have had plenty of practice. The process was shorter than it once was. Several clicks later, Yusuke returns to his side.  
  
    He watched him, eyes warm and in love, while Yusuke thumbed through the photographs for a moment before seeming to find the one that pleased him most. This was the one that he turned around for Akira’s approval.  
  
    It _was_ flowers. Akira's stomach fluttered pleasantly like butterflies as he realized he hadn't been wrong in that regard. They were not roses, though. A gorgeous collection of hellebores spilled out against his spine, stretching upward as if looking for the sun. In lieu of growing from soil, the very base of his back was full of what looked like frozen water spilling over and stuck in time.   
  
    It was a fountain, he realized, frozen over with dustings of snow along the stone rim. The colors were dark, but vibrant. In contrast, strands of wisteria spilled gorgeously from his shoulders, dripping in shades of lavender. Yusuke had captured their lightness as if they were swaying in the breeze. He could practically smell the sweet perfume of them.  
  
    "It's beautiful."  
  
    And it was. His voice sounded so weak that it cracked faintly. He could not help but stare at the vision of beauty Yusuke had created on his skin. This... _this_ was what was itching at his back; a vague prickle, part of a weekend ritual for relaxation and togetherness. To see that it was something so inexplicably grand and haunting made Akira feel like he had stepped forward only to find the distance miscalculated. His whole body reeled from momentary surprise.   
  
    "I did tell you I could not create anything less than beautiful on you. You inspire me. Your skin has a magic of its own."  
  
    Akira had to take him at his word. His eyes remained steady on the tiny screen, staring his fill and then staring some more. Hellebores...he knew they were poisonous and had read somewhere they were considered scandalous...growing from frozen, dark water and glowing brilliant with color while the wisteria and sky up above was all soft color and equally soft beauty.  
  
    He could ask about his choices. He could ask if they were meant to symbolize something or someone, but he doesn't. Akira only stared at the image, wishing desperately he could see it in person. Only once he felt sure every line and shade of purple was committed to memory did he hand the camera back over to Yusuke with a smile. He hoped it portrayed all the brilliance and earnestness he felt.  
  
    "It's _perfect_ , Yusuke."  
  
    Yusuke’s smug little smile and downcast eyes beamed with agreement. He watched as he turned the camera off and set it aside, then shifted his attention back to Akira.   
  
    The paint felt dry by now. It still surprised him how fast it could be, and all that was left was the tightness and the itching. Normally, he would be eager to have Yusuke scrub it away for him to spare himself the discomfort. This particular day, he felt less inclined to part with it.  
  
    Akira rolled up to his side, mourning his poor bed sheets when he felt flakes of paint start to shed and rain down. It would have to be alright for now. Akira lifted his hand to cup Yusuke's neck and used it to drag him down into a kiss.  
  
    Yusuke tasted like their morning coffee, and his fingers had the dusty feeling of dried paint where they touched his cheek. His tongue was not shy in its quest to conquer his own, but it remained slow and unhurried nonetheless. He was obviously content to battle for a lifetime, judging by the coursing slide of his tongue that mapped out every corner of his mouth.  
  
    His moan was all the surrender he would need. Akira indulged the sluggishness in his body and began to card his fingers through Yusuke's water-like hair. It was warm to the touch, like silk left under a pool of sunlight. The delicate graze of teeth along his lower lip the blade hidden underneath.  
      
    Yusuke, who was romance and beauty personified, always held the edge of Fox just up his sleeve.  
  
    Heat began to ebb through his body the longer they kissed. In his mind, he imagined the warmth of it melting the paint on his back into running streams of color that matched the ever slipping self-control brought on by Yusuke's hand, sliding soft as flower petals down his chest.  
  
    How he managed to make touching him through his pajama bottoms equally soft was beyond Akira, but he loved it intensely. His hips rolled up into the man's touch with unfettered interest, his cock growing warm and stiff under his palm.  
  
    " _You_ are perfect," Yusuke purred, referencing Akira's words about the painting. His voice had gone deeper and smoother like it always did when arousal gripped him, not so much rumbling as rolling like thunder into his sensitive ear.  
  
    The hand left him, causing Akira to whine with loss. When he glanced down to see what Yusuke was doing, he found himself severely confused to see him reaching for the paintbrush in the ceramic cup, along with the reserved mug of clean water beside it.  
  
    Gripped with absolute curiosity,  Akira watched him take one of the thicker brushes and swirl it through the clear water with a flourish. It left it only the faintest bit murky, letting them both know that it was clean. He wanted to complain. One moment he was being pleasured, the next he was forced to simply sit while Yusuke cleaned his brushes?  
  
    No sooner had the thought crossed his mind before wetness suddenly seeped through the front of his pajama bottoms.  
  
    His eyes slammed open wide and rushed down to see his burgeoning erection straining at the cotton, a wet patch staining them a darker green. Poised just above it was Yusuke's hand holding the dripping paintbrush.  
  
    "What are y-"  
  
    "Finishing my masterpiece. Hush now," Yusuke answered before he could even finish, heat and pride smoldering like coals in his eyes as well as his voice.  
  
    With exquisite slowness, he lowered the brush again, and Akira stared slack jawed and helpless. Yusuke traced the outline of his arousal through his pants, the sensation of the fabric growing wet and bleeding against his flushed skin unlike anything Akira could hope to describe. The wetter they became, the more the pants stuck to his skin, adhering to the sordid length of his cock as if Yusuke were chiseling the shape of him out of marble.  
  
    The whole while, his stomach burned to ash. It took everything in him not to squirm and buck into those delightfully flirtatious brushes. It wasn't _enough_.  
  
    After a quick plunge of the brush back into the cup of water, Yusuke continued his exploration. It returned drenched and dripping to eagerly swirl and daub along the implication of his balls, painting out the subtle hill of them in soaked-through plaid.  
  
    If Yusuke noticed the shaking of his thighs from pleasure, he did not acknowledge it. His dark eyes were riveted on this new project. Akira was dying to know what piece of beauty and artwork was filling his head, even while he trailed the brush yet lower to caress and seep water against his perineum.  
  
    The touch there didn’t linger. The brush disappeared after a brief hesitation, and Akira held his breath as he watched the way Yusuke suddenly twirled the paintbrush in his hand. It was dazzling. His eyes lit up with excitement to see such deft skill, but his grin melted away into a deep, uncontrolled moan at the more unforgiving sensation of wood that appeared against him instead.  
  
    The handle of the brush was sturdy as it was distracting. Akira jolted beneath the stiffness of it, fighting to stay still. It trailed up the length of him and circled sweetly around the head, mimicking a tongue for all that it did not feel like one. It felt so _foreign_ it was dizzying, and Akira's breath was already a sharp and strangled thing in his chest.  
  
    He dared not move and break this spell. Not when Yusuke's eyes were all over him. Not when that brush handle trailed further and further down until it caressed against his perineum and teased at the valley even further south.  
  
    "Y-Yusuke," he gasped, finding it impossible to resist grinding his ass along the hardness of the handle. It was too thin to be satisfying, but the blaze of lust he saw reflected in his dark eyes made it feel impossibly good.  
  
    The feeling of his pants being peeled down his legs was like sublime torture. The fabric stuck and clung to his skin. After a satisfying yank they yielded, revealing his crotch that glistened with the moisture that had soaked through. Yusuke's gaze looked shrewd in the same way it did when they toured galleries. He was _seeing_ something that Akira could never understand.  
  
    The breeze from the window chilled him like fingers, but then real fingers wrapped around him. The heat and softness of Yusuke's hand made Akira groan with relieved pleasure to _finally_ feel them. He was ignorant of the painting on his back now, too busy rolling over and bucking his hips up for more.  
  
    "Love your hands," he babbled on a tight whisper. Knots of pure pleasure tightened and coiled in his stomach, but it was Yusuke's nose nuzzling against his ear that made him start to lose control.  
  
    It must have been obvious on his face. The next moment, Akira felt Yusuke slipping between his thighs. Lazy Sundays were the best, in part due to the fact that they enjoyed it in as little clothing as possible. To glance down and see Yusuke's arousal free of his pajamas, flushed and hard, was enough to send ribbons of pleasure fluttering through his body.  
  
    Akira jerked a hand out to the little ornamental box they kept on the window sill. He rooted around for a moment, pushing past discarded ticket stubs and pieces of jewelry before he tugged his hand back out and presented a bottle of lubricant to Yusuke with a smile.  
  
    Yusuke's smile was made to match, curved with a sharp edge and flawlessly gorgeous. He was dying to kiss him again, but Akira comforted himself with gazing at the man's hands while he coated his cock. Seeing the late morning sunlight bouncing off the slick surface was incredibly tantalizing. Given the way Yusuke was staring at his own wet arousal, he had to assume it went both ways.  
  
    Once prepared, the man wasted no time. He shifted between his legs, projecting quiet, unassailable authority, lining up and pressing forward with absolute precision. Every single time with Yusuke was perfect. He filled him exquisitely, all length and intention, to the point Akira wanted to sob his pleasure. He dared not with the open window, no matter how much he craved to be heard.  
  
    Instead, he lifted his hands to cradle Yusuke's face, pulling him down and into a starved mess of a kiss that betrayed just how undone he truly was. The first heavy, graceful thrust into his body made him cry out against his lips, but it would seem it wasn't enough for Yusuke. He reached down between their bodies to wrap his fingers around him once again as he fell into a shallow, quick rhythm that seemed to proclaim that he knew _exactly_ how close Akira already was.  
  
    The air around them was still sweet with sugar, and now it was mixed with the heady scent of sweat and the fresh rainwater fragrance of the man's shampoo. Paint itched and flaked at his back, but it barely even registered on his radar in the wake of Yusuke hitting a lucky angle that dug so tantalizingly into his prostate it sent his vision dark.  
  
    Colors exploded behind his eyelids. Akira wished Yusuke could see them with him.   
  
    He begged for more, his arms heavy as lead weights against the familiar skin while his nails dug in like claws. Each thrust felt deeper than the one before, flirting near that pleasurable spot and occasionally knocking into it, sending him reeling and muffling shouts against Yusuke's lips.  
  
    The pleasure inside of him grew and writhed. In his mind's eye, it felt like a pulsing, ravenous cloud of purple that demanded pleasure like cracked earth demanded rain. He would _die_ if he didn't keep rising higher and higher.   
  
    Reedy breaths left him in threadbare pants, his mouth dry and heavy with praise. Every single kiss Yusuke bestowed upon him was like rain, and every genteel tug of his cock left green shoots of pleasure springing up all the way to his throat.  
  
    Yusuke slammed forward one final hard time with that same precise movement, and Akira was done for. His body burst up off the sheets as if he was trying to climb out of his own skin. Hot wetness bathed his stomach, even while he convulsed and churned and rushed up eagerly to greet the oblivion that Yusuke had brought to him like a gift.  
  
    When he finally eased back down into an inelegant slump of limbs and butter-soft muscles, Akira could not help but groan when he felt Yusuke slipping out of his body. He opened bleary eyes, and his stomach jolted at the sight of the man looming over him and fisting his cock, staring with all the intensity in the world.  
  
    Akira felt helpless to it, pinned and held in place by invisible hands. He could do nothing but stare back and wet his lips. Yusuke was reduced to controlled pants while he slowly straddled his body and began to inch his way up.  
  
    His knees were sharp brackets around his hips, then his ribs where he fell still. Yusuke's hand slapped out against the wall like he were tossing out an anchor, his chest pink and rising falling with his labored breathing. Akira was entranced by the image he made, caught under glass while Yusuke never once wavered in his staring. His eyes were dark and tumultuous and swallowed whole by his pleasure.  
  
    A blink, and Akira could felt achingly hot wetness bloom against his neck and chest and the sharp ridge of his jaw. It dripped down the tendons of his throat and pooled in the dip of his collarbone in thick, scorching puddles. The whole while Yusuke still stared, obviously admiring this very different form of painting with absolute fire in his gaze.  
  
    Only once every last drop had finally left him did he slump with exhaustion, pressing his feverish face to the wall. Akira finally felt the spell break enough to reach out and pet sweetly at his legs. Silence passed between them, the wind chime tinkling merrily, far away but cheerful.  
  
    Eventually, they moved. Yusuke wiped him down with reverent touches of damp cloth and fingertips until eventually, they found themselves naked and beneath the sheets. Each kiss of the breeze on their hyper sensitive skin left them shivering.  
  
    Akira grazed his fingertips along Yusuke's chest, trying to imagine what pieces of art hid just beneath his skin that the other man could see, but he could not.  
  
    "Why the hellebores?"  
  
    Yusuke didn't answer immediately. For a moment, Akira was sure he'd fallen to sleep, so relaxed was his expression, but the tightening circle of his arm around his body let him know he was at least awake enough for that.  
  
    "It's a flower of opposites,” he whispered, fingers gently carding through his hair and easing at knots Akira hadn’t known were there. “In folklore, it is both poison and cure. Dangerous, but beautiful. Full of life, but blooms in winter. There are myths about it being born from tears, but in a bouquet it often means 'scandal'. I have never found a flower more fitting for you."  
  
    Akira’s nose burned, and his eyes felt glassy, but it was a smile that he buried into Yusuke's shoulder when he hugged himself all the closer. The knowledge that Yusuke looked at him and saw him as something so exceptional filled him with emotions that made him feel both brittle and untouchable. He suddenly wanted to tattoo hellebores all over his body so that they could never be washed away like the ones on his back today.   
  
    He settled on pulling Yusuke in for another kiss, thumb dragging heavy and reverent against the paint on his jaw. When they parted, Akira could only smile.  
  
    "It was a good choice."


End file.
